


Preserving Minutes

by geoblock



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drug Use, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut, abuse mention, adam and ronan awkward parenting, post-trk, this is a one-off stoner fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoblock/pseuds/geoblock
Summary: So Ronan (accidentally on purpose) dreams some devil's lettuce, and he and Adam get high. Obviously, sappy, drug-fueled sex ensues...





	

It wasn’t Ronan’s intention to fall asleep, much less to dream. He’d been counting down infinite minutes until Adam’s night shift finished at the garage, and Adam would crawl into his unofficial side of Ronan’s bed, and they’d fall into fitful summer-warmed sleep. 

But Ronan’s open window had caught a non-existent breeze, sending it in fits and starts across Ronan’s bare and sweaty back, like a lullaby made for him. His Celtic constitution didn’t suit summers like these.

Opal had passed out hours before, in Matthew’s old room, with a soft toy she’d grown attached to in the last few months. At least, the half she hadn’t eaten yet. The Barns hummed comfortably in silence—the only silence Ronan didn’t feel obliged to stifle with brutal electronica. 

The last thing Ronan could remember was waiting for the almost-death rattle of the Hondayota in the driveway, before he found himself stumbling into Cabeswater.  
Ronan knew, immediately, this wasn’t an ordinary dream. His limbs were sluggish and they felt droopy and beyond his control. Panic made his heart stutter—what if he was forced to run, what if he was poisoned--?

He’d learnt from a young age to expect the worst of his imagination. He didn’t need a souvenir of fear now, not when Opal slept only rooms away. Dream Ronan inhaled, only to have it catch in his lungs and erupt as a cough. Smoke followed his explosion, pouring from his mouth and nostrils. The confusion that followed was accompanied only by a strange sense of déjà vu, of familiarity. He wasn’t afforded time to dwell however, when light seemed to cut through the dream, a sliver rooting him—he could feel the pillow on his cheek, sweat on his back, his stomach pressing into the mattress…

“Hey.” Adam’s voice was low, and Ronan felt himself being torn from sleep. It was never comfortable—it felt like dragging himself out of something suctioned to him, like his natural state was dreaming.

“Sorry I’m late.” Adam’s voice was still low, a little further away, and Ronan waited for use of his limbs to return. No matter how often it happened, the few seconds where his body wouldn’t respond was always terrifying.

There was a zipper sound—Ronan knew Adam was stripping off his greasy work overalls and the image stirred him a little. Finally, he cracked a lid, and the floodgates opened as his body became his again.

He shifted around and sat up, cracking his neck—Adam winced. 

“I thought the Hondayota had finally fucked out on you.” Ronan commented, folding his legs.

“Jesus, do you ever wear clothes?” Adam responded, but the complaint in his voice was half-hearted. Maybe because he was too busy eyeing Ronan’s clotheless body.

Ronan grinned evilly, “We’re not all prudes, Parrish.” He stretched some more, less for satisfaction and more for the look on Adam’s face at the cracking joints. 

Adam was undressed now, but left on a pair of boxers—Ronan recognized them as his own. 

“Nice panties.”

Adam flushed a pleasant pink, “I didn’t notice until I was already at work.” He mumbled.

The sight of Adam in his underwear did something funny to Ronan’s insides, striking up a feeling of proud possessiveness he found himself prone to. 

Adam knelt on the bed, plumping his pillow before lying down with a sigh. They’d fallen into patterns after a year of dating, and Ronan knew this: Adam showed affection with words. He rarely instigated physical affection unless he knew Ronan needed it, but he always reciprocated. Adam liked giving more than taking. Adam slept on the left side of the bed, closest to the door, and always fell asleep first. Adam sleep mumbled, and all of his nightmares featured him staying alive until last.

This checklist reassured Ronan, especially when Adam was two hours away in his college dorm and Ronan worried he was losing pieces of his boyfriend to strangers at parties, dormmates, professors and people more enchanting than middle-of-nowhere, farmer boy Ronan.

Adam started talking, telling Ronan in a gentle voice about his shift and trying to ship in a car part for a Ferrari—‘I forgot how…Aglionby Aglionby is’—and Ronan listened quietly and peacefully knowing that Adam’s inner thoughts were something far more intimate than any physical gesture. He pictured his boyfriend’s brain constantly ticking and clunking in this orderly fashion—he was privileged enough to be allowed a glimpse onto the shop floor; Adam pulling him inwards with him.

Ronan leaned across the short space, drawing nonsensical patterns across the inside of Adam’s wrist as his boyfriend talked. Adam’s free hand—almost absentmindedly—lifted in return, tracing the line of Ronan’s shoulder. 

“Ronan.” Adam cut himself off suddenly, his tone half reprimanding and half amusement, “What’s this?” His hand had found something lying on the covers, impossible to see in the dark.

Ronan squinted as it was held up, and he could just make out the silhouette of the object. 

“That,” Ronan’s smirk was untameable, “is a joint, Parrish.”

The hallway light Adam had left on caught in the cracks of the door, making Adam’s frown just visible.

“Not that it would stop you, but marijuana isn’t legal in this state.” He’d shifted up onto one elbow, holding the offending joint as though it was poisonous.

“I don’t think there’s anything about dream weed in our law.” Ronan said calmly, snatching the offending object from Adam’s grip and twirling it about in his own.

That explained the dream, at least. He hadn’t been poisoned—he’d been stoned. It was a neat roll too, better than anything Ronan could’ve achieved with his clumsy conscious fingers. 

Ronan put it between his lips, leaning over to fumble in his bedside drawer for a lighter. It had been a while—Kavinsky usually provided Aglionby with weed—but he’d been in the mood for a few weeks now.

“You’re going to smoke it now?” Adam asked, sitting up and watching Ronan.

“I’ll crack a window.” Ronan shrugged, finally digging a plastic lighter out.

Adam’s face was creased—not in anger—but a cautious curiosity as he watched Ronan put the flame to the tip.

“I’ve never been stoned before.” Adam said after a minute, and Ronan shifted his head on the pillow before taking a solid hit.

Once, things along these lines—mostly alcohol, occasionally dope—had been Ronan’s escape, fighting to find a space between reality and dreams because both were equally nightmarish. It wasn’t like everything was perfect now, far from it, but Ronan wasn’t relying on substances for his peace of mind. He tried to keep it recreational, amusing himself with the different settings he could flick his mind to.

Ronan didn’t say anything, concentrating on exhaling. He didn’t want to cough in front of Adam, for reasons so pathetic he refused to admit them. 

“What is it like?” Adam asked, the curiosity in his tone unmissable now. This was Adam in school—asking questions, taking notes, setting up an understanding. Ronan felt like a mentor. 

He struggled for an appropriate metaphor—Gansey was the linguist, not him, “It’s like your brain in quicksand. And you get hungry.”

Ronan had forgotten a point on his earlier checklist, and it was that Adam never stopped surprising him. 

Ronan should’ve recognized the expression occupying Adam’s features now. It was Adam pledging his senses to Cabeswater, it was Adam refusing to move into Monmouth, it was Adam insisting they split the dinner bill. He was stubborn beyond reason, frustratingly so. God, Ronan fucking loved him like this. No matter how much it pissed him off. This time it didn’t seem to be Ronan on the receiving end, however, but Adam himself. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Ronan said quickly, as Adam leaned over and plucked the glowing joint from Ronan’s fingers.

“I want to try.” Adam insisting, pinching it too hard as he fitted it between his lips. Ronan tried to blame it on the cottonmouth, but Adam’s lips tight on the roach made it hard for Ronan to swallow. 

“Draw, and take it right into your lungs.” Ronan coached, as Adam pulled, the glowing tip flaring brighter. “Try hold it, if you can.”

There was a ten second silence before Adam burst into coughs, smoke billowing from his mouth and nostrils. Ronan laughed, 

“You look like a dragon.” And Adam laughed along too.

“Jesus Christ.” He huffed with a smile, his voice throaty, “That’s rough.”

He passed it back to Ronan, who took a careful second hit—concentrating on the way the smoke skimmed through his windpipe, hitting his lungs with a ferocity that almost made his eyes water. He didn’t look to Adam until he exhaled, catching the look on his boyfriend’s face with one part smugness, two parts arousal.

“Like what you see?” Ronan teased, expecting the usual eyeroll or snort from Adam’s end. 

Instead his smirk was mimicked, “Sure do.”

Ronan leaned up, intending to drag his boyfriend into a heated kiss, but Adam leaned over and took the joint from him instead, putting it back to his lips.

Ronan wanted to preserve this moment, like he’s been doing with most moments shared this summer. Like if he can trap them in amber and keep them fresh, he can make it through the next lonely school year come September. So usually he wouldn’t ask, but he’s kind of stoned and has trouble telling his thoughts from his words.

“I didn’t think you liked getting...”

“Inebriated?” Adam asked on the exhale, raising an eyebrow. 

Ronan nodded, not sure how to phrase his question into one.

Adam sighed, and Ronan watched as something darkens a little inside him, “Robert Parrish wasn’t a dope-head, just a drinker.”

Ronan felt something clunk uncomfortably inside of him, like it always did when Adam’s father was mentioned. He couldn’t imagine how it affected Adam, nor could he empathize—Niall Lynch had done no wrong in the eyes of a younger Ronan. And though older Ronan was growing to learn his father’s faults posthumously, the Barns had been filled with nothing but love. Ronan had never doubted his place.

“I’ve always worried alcohol will unlock something in me. Like flicking the on switch to code a gene.” Adam added quietly, taking another drag, “Shit, maybe this will…”

Ronan reached for Adam’s hand and squeezed, unsure how else to express his disagreement verbally. He fumbled anyway, “You’re nothing like him.”

Adam’s jaw twitched but he smiled anyway, “That’s not entirely true. But there’s not much point living in fear of it, either way.”

The joint was nearly finished, and Ronan took the last hit as he played a sloppy thumb war with Adam on the bedspread. 

“How are you feeling?” Ronan asked, jumping off the bed to crack the window he should’ve opened before. 

Adam was still sitting up, but his head was back, eyes closed.

“I feel like… like…” 

Ronan waited for something profound, but Adam’s frowned, “Food. I feel like food.”

Ronan agreed, “Grilled cheese?”

“Mmmm.” Adam nodded, stumbling awkwardly out into the hallway.

Ronan fished out a pair of underwear from the top drawer, not wanting to go downstairs completely naked. It wasn’t until he joined Adam in the kitchen that Adam laughed, pointing at the boxers.

“Those are mine.”

“I wondered why they had so many holes.”

Adam poked his tongue out, and Ronan opened the fridge to retrieve cheese and butter, and Adam produced a load of bread.

“You butter.” Ronan ordered, “I will slice.”

It took Ronan some concentration to cut even pieces, it felt something like performing brain surgery. But he wasn’t half as stoned as Adam, who kept trying to spread the butter with the wrong end of the knife.

Somehow they managed to create something that looked right, and Ronan pressed it firmly into the frying pan. 

He couldn’t hear over the crackling, and gave a little start as Adam’s hands slid up his back and came to rest on his shoulders. Breath tickled the fine hairs across Ronan’s tattoo, the only warning to the lips that followed, peppering themselves down each vertebra with care. 

The arousal that had been simmering since Adam got home swelled, in both the physical and mental sense. 

Adam’s hands were slipping lower, dipping in the waistband of Ronan’s—Adam’s, actually—underwear, drawing a ragged breath from Ronan. Christ, he loved Adam’s hands.

“Have we ever fucked over the stove before?” Adam growled into Ronan’s ear, before nipping it affectionately.

“Jesus, Adam.”

Adam’s hand had found Ronan’s erection now, weighing it lightly in his palm to tease. Ronan pushed back—grinding in frustration—but Adam’s hips shifted too, not allowing Ronan the friction he desperately wanted. This was Adam’s favourite thing to do, wind Ronan up until he was nearly in tears, clawing and growling like a wild thing. Ronan supposed it was the same reason people bought leopards as pets and kept them in cages. It was a display of power. 

It would be a cold day in hell before Ronan admitted how hot he found it, but Adam knew. 

Adam stroked him gently, too slowly, and Ronan tried to thrust himself into Adam’s hand. But then Adam released his hand completely, removing it from Ronan’s underwear to Ronan’s protesting groan. But Ronan jumped as the hand smacked his ass firmly, with a sting that almost made Ronan’s teeth go through his bottom lip in his effort to suppress a moan. 

“Don’t burn it.” Adam said before walking away, settling himself at the dining table, putting a few paces between he and Ronan. The table itself was a dream invention of his father’s, with dream heating in the seats for winter.

Ronan shot his boyfriend a glare before returning to the frying pan with considerably less concentration—most of it was still focused on the solid aching in Adam’s underwear, his stomach writing with the need to relieve it. 

When he set Adam’s plate in front of him minutes later—it was more dropping than setting—he sat opposite, taking care to eat his own grilled cheese with as much lip-licking and unnecessary rigmarole as possible. However exaggerated it was, it still caught Adam’s attention, his eyes moving from his own food to Ronan’s with a look of heated jealousy that was almost as sexy as the grilled cheese.

Ronan finished his first, quickly slipping under the table and crawling to Adam’s seat. He savoured Adam’s ragged inhale as Ronan’s hands slid up his legs, skimming teasingly over his hips and the waistband of Adam’s—but actually Ronan’s—underwear. 

Ronan pressed teasing kisses over the tops of Adam’s thighs, in the crease of his hips, adding nips of his teeth that made Adam hiss. Adam was never as vocal as Ronan, but when Adam’s hands slipped under the table—one gripping the chair with a white-knuckled grip, the other searching for Ronan’s head to stop him teasing—Ronan knew that was Adam’s way to say ‘please’. 

So Ronan shimmied his own underwear over Adam’s dick, just enough to free it from where it strained against the fabric. Leaning forward—licking his bottom lip in anticipation—he licked a hard stripe up the underside of Adam’s shaft, watching indulgently as Adam’s grip tightened on the chair.

“Ronan, please—”

Ronan took the head into this mouth without warning, living for the half-choked growl he earned from Adam. Everything seemed to be overwhelming his senses—every part of his caught up in the taste of Adam, the weight and softness on his tongue, the hisses and moans, the hand now on the back of his head—lovingly drawing patterns across the shaved hair. 

Ronan took as much of Adam as he could, feeling the head nudging at his gag reflex, working the neglected base with his free hand. 

Adam was trying hard not to thrust up now, his hips twitching in the seat, his knees shaking with effort of holding back. 

Ronan had always loved blowing Adam—making his reserved and introverted boyfriend lose control and surrender his preservation. But the weed was only making it more intense, dragging out every minute and every sensation into something far more complicated, making Ronan’s head spin.

Maybe that was why neither of them heard the clomping of hooves down the stairs until the sound reached the kitchen, and Adam jumped, nearly making Ronan gag. 

Neither of them dared to move. Ronan could see Opal’s furry legs walking past, her Muppets nightie reaching her knees.

“I’m just getting some milk.” She mumbled sleepily, and he could imagine how she’d be rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, blonde hair mussed from her pillow.

Ronan listened to the fridge opening, not daring to make the slightest sound—not even to remove his mouth from Adam—lest Opal hear and look under the table.

“Don’t drink straight out of the carton, love.” Adam’s voice was strained, but he was good at hiding it, “It’s bad manners.”

“Kerah does it.” She responded. Ronan tried to suppress a snort of laughter, and the fingers on his scalp flicked him. Ronan wasn’t sure whether it was for laughing or setting a bad example, but he had a feeling it was both. 

“Goodnight, Dadadam.” Opal said after another half a second, using her own special blend of ‘Dad’ and ‘Adam.’

“Goodnight, Opal.”

They waited for the sound of hooves to finish ascending the stairs, and then for a second longer. Then Adam’s hands were pushing him off, encouraging him out from under the table. Ronan clambered out, laughing at the blush lighting Adam’s cheeks,

“We’re going to traumatize her one day.” He muttered.

“Do you think she saw?” Ronan asked.

Adam shook his head, “No, thank God. But I think we should take this upstairs.”

They managed to hold themselves back until they got to Ronan’s bedroom, and Adam locked the door behind them before pulling Ronan to him. They hadn’t even reached the bed yet, still standing as lips skimmed necks and jaws, fingers roaming dangerously low. 

Ronan moved to drop to his knees, but Adam held him, shaking his head.

“No, I need—”

Ronan caught Adam’s gaze, noting how blown out Adam’s pupils were, how the flush in his cheeks hadn’t abated. Ronan knew the feeling—his stomach seemed to be eating itself in pure desire, his heart fluttering about in his chest with shallow breaths and his quickened pulse.

“Alright.” Ronan whispered, giving Adam a final peck before diving for his own bedside drawer, fumbling for lube. 

He passed the bottle to Adam to open, while he took his time pulling down his, then Adam’s underwear.

Adam paused with his task to push Ronan onto the bed, and Ronan fell back willingly. He was sure there was nothing more brilliant than the sight of Adam Parrish—elegant, mysterious, distant—standing at the foot of his bed, wetting his fingers with lube. Ronan wished there was a way to send memories back to his past self, maybe with a note; 'hang in there. It’ll come together'. 

Ronan’s sappy thoughts were cut short when Adam knelt on the bed over him, flipping Ronan roughly onto his stomach, knees up. Kisses were trailed down Ronan’s back—one placed in each dimple at his lower back—before he felt teeth sinking gently into his left buttcheek, accompanied with wet fingers sliding teasingly around his entrance,

“You want this?” Adam growled into his skin, refusing to give Ronan even an inch.

“Please.” Ronan mumbled incoherently—his arousal was making him shudder feverishly, trying to press back against Adam.

“Are you sure?” Adam teased again, nipping at Ronan’s right cheek this time.

Ronan groaned, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if you don’t put your fingers inside me right now, Parrish, I’ll—”

But his words cut off in a gasp as Adam slid two fingers deep in one fluid motion, curling tightly inside Ronan. He was granted one second of relief before the need continued to build, and Adam’s fingers scissored with increasing pace. Ronan could only take a few minute before he begged,

“Please, I want your—”

Adam didn’t tease this time, needing to be inside of Ronan as much as Ronan wanted him there.

There was only a second more fumbling before Adam lined himself up, sliding half into Ronan with a slowness that was much too fast but much too slow. Adam rocked gently, giving Ronan time to adjust to the pleasure/pain of entry. It was so much more intense than dick play—the feeling of someone actually inside him was on a whole other level.

Ronan nudged back when he was ready, and Adam slid home, the only indicator of his pleasure the fingers digging tightly into Ronan’s hips, holding them firmly together. The heat of the room and the action of Adam’s building thrusts brought beads of sweat to Ronan’s neck and face, as he muffled his groans in the pillow before him. 

As Adam’s thrusts grew deeper and faster, the bedframe shifted under their moving bodies, and Adam leaned down against Ronan’s back, placing kisses against  
Ronan’s tattoo between his panting.

“God, Ronan.” Adam whispered, his movements growing choppier and more unevenly-paced.

Ronan slipped a hand over his own dick, in time with Adam’s movements, feeling release threatening inside him, sizzling along each nerve. 

Ronan cried out when Adam skimmed his prostate—once, twice—before he came, sloppily and ungraciously into the duvet under him. Adam quickly followed, Ronan could feel his boyfriend’s body tightening and clenching against him, along with the unmistakeable warmth that filled Ronan in seconds.

They stayed in that position for a moment, catching their breath, either one not sure whether or not to move.

“That was… intense.” Adam said after a pause, “I’m also still pretty stoned.”

Ronan laughed, wiped by the cocktail of endorphins and dope still in his system. 

They shifted, and Ronan looked at the messy they’d made across the bed. 

“I’ll go grab some fresh sheets.” Ronan sighed, slipping out the door and into the hallway. He’d made it halfway to the linen cupboard when he heard a shriek from further up the hall, which made his heart jump in his chest.

“KERAH! YOU’RE NAKED!” Opal cried, petrified in her open doorframe.

Ronan’s face lit in a blush as he fought to cover himself, and Opal darted back inside her room, slamming the door.

Adam, hearing the shriek, had run out of Ronan’s room—but at least he’d had the forethought to put on Ronan’s robe.

“What was that?” he asked, alarmed.

Ronan grimaced, “Opal’s definitely traumatized now.”


End file.
